Renew
by FearlessnessNY
Summary: Renew.  v.  to be restored to a former state become new or as if new again.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you to my little betas. I could have have done this without you. Thanks also to Adrienne, who put up with my OCD and constant e-mails about changes!

Voices hovered over her like specters, too many to keep track of. They grew louder and more numerous as the fog in her brain lifted. She cracked one eye open, then another.

Colors swirled around her. It reminded her of cars on an interstate at night, the headlights blending together to form a single blurry line. Each pass of light sent a series of shooting pains through her head.

She flinched as a cool, metallic object brushed against her temple. Her eyes crossed as it swung like a pendulum in and out of her line of vision. In her tired state, she sluggishly identified the stethoscope as it dangled from the neck of one of the first-responders. She willed her eyes to focus as a face materialized, its origin she wasn't sure.

Something pinched her hand. Confused, she tried to look down, but the plastic collar around her neck restricted any movement.

The panic bubbling beneath the surface of her usual cool demeanor increased and she started to thrash around. Her arm shot out in an attempt to dislodge the clear mask covering her nose and mouth. A hand caught her flailing limb before gently placing it onto a plastic board beneath her body.

She blinked rapidly, surveying the scene the best that she could. She saw a stoplight overhead and realized she was in the middle of the street. She heard the slow progression of tires as they passed by and silently apologized for being the reason for the traffic jam.

She tried to whisper a short, fragmented question to gain some kind of knowledge as to what happened.

The sheer act of speaking was torture and her voice was too muffled for anyone to hear over the noise. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to escape. If only she could.

With her eyes clamped shut, she focused on her other senses. Each sound was separate from the rest. An engine idled nearby as officers shouted out orders to each other around the perimeter of the accident. Her accident.

She remembered a horn and the stinging sensation of gravel as it tore through her clothing, ripping and abrading skin. The memory was distant, held in some dark recess of her mind until she was ready to face it, to make sense of it all.

Hands tapped her cheeks while latex-coated fingers pried her heavy lids apart, drawing her away from her thoughts. She coughed at the smell, a scent that reminded her of the victims she'd dealt with on a daily basis.

She wanted to yell at them to leave her alone, that the light they kept shining into her eyes only made her head hurt worse. It pounded, intensified by the hurried footsteps as they scraped against the pavement near her head. Nausea rose as her stomach churned, ready to release its contents.

She stilled as the hands pulled her shirt away from her body. Goosebumps rose on her torso as the cold air hit exposed skin. She shivered in a subconscious attempt to ward off the chill.

A yelp pierced through the night as the fingers poked and prodded, adding insult to injury. She tried to turn away from the cause of her discomfort, only to be met with a resistance too great to overcome.

More voices, this time louder. She grasped keywords that clued her in as the paramedics spoke to one another, flanked on each side of her.

Contusions. She focused on the burning sensation of the multiple cuts and scrapes on her body. Her face had absorbed some of her fall, or maybe when she landed. She knew she had a terrible case of road rash all over her body.

Fractures. Internal bleeding. Her breath hitched as crushed pieces of her right shoulder and left hip grinded together. She slowed her respirations, suddenly aware that the smallest movement could send fragments of bone into fragile organs.

She snaked her arm out and the back of her hand brushed up against her jacket. Her sluggish movements turned frantic when the fabric slipped between her fingertips as it was pulled from her grasp.

She choked back a sob as, piece by piece, her lifeline fell out of the pocket and onto the ground.

Moments into her despair, she was lifted onto a stretcher. She flinched when the locking mechanisms snapped into place, the telltale clink signaling the transfer to the ambulance.

She caught the fast-moving faces, the looks of concern as she passed by. Her body rose and she felt herself moving backwards. The door closed with a slam and she jerked in response, sending waves of pain coursing throughout her body.

She wondered if he was already at the hospital after having been notified of the accident. He would have rushed to the scene if they hadn't told him to go straight to the waiting room. Defying all attempts at calming him down, they would have to restrain him long enough for her to be wheeled through the sliding doors where he would follow directly behind until the doors abruptly shut.

She could see him peering through the rectangular window, feeling more lost than he'd ever been. It was the same pain she was feeling and no amount of medical intervention would save her from such heartache. Not until he was by her side.

Xxx

"…no identification."

"…in and out of consciousness…"

"…starting to come around again."

Stats, injuries, procedures, and medications were shouted from the medical personnel surrounding her as she wearily opened her eyes. She'd hoped it was a nightmare and that, when she woke up, sunlight would be streaming into the window instead of the fluorescent light above.

She held her injured arm against her body in hopes that they would leave it alone. Suddenly, it lifted without her permission and further down her battered body the same torment was inflicted upon her leg. The endorphins had long worn off and sheer agony took their place.

She lay as still as possible as her hand was squeezed tightly. She recognized the gesture. She'd used it before in hopes of alleviating the physical pain of an exam.

She panted in spite of the mask, unable to draw in vast amounts of much-needed oxygen. The squeeze returned, only more noticeable before she felt the edge of a scalpel seconds before it pierced her side. She writhed on the table, her chest heaving.

Gentle hands wiped her sweat-drenched face with a towel, catching the beads of perspiration that she knew had mixed with her tears. She saw compassion in eyes that never left her gaze. She drew strength from them, letting the hazel depths of a complete stranger sooth her.

Each new breath proved to be easier than the last. Her stomach lurched at the sickening red liquid passing through the tube as red-stained hands held it in place. The pinpricks of the needle into her skin were manageable compared to the white hot flashes of pain she'd just felt.

She heard a squeak as the stool rolled away and took the nurse along with it. She stared at her hand and observed the whiteness of her skin change into a shade, she thought, was of a normal hue.

Another nurse appeared with a syringe, injecting a murky liquid into her IV port. The effects were instant, taking her away from the lights and sounds of the Trauma Room.

Xxx

His stomach growled again, earning him an amused look from Munch. Elliot had been there for an hour and he was already starving.

He reached across the threshold between Olivia's desk and his, looking around casually as if trying to make it seem like he wasn't just snooping around on his partner's desk.

If she had been in, she'd have just shot him a look and asked him why the hell he even bothered asking. They'd been partners long enough to know each other that well. It wasn't a month into their partnership when she'd started 'borrowing' sugar packets from the top drawer of his desk. He'd started keeping an extra supply for that reason. That and on the mornings John's coffee was harder on the palate than usual, the sugar came in handy.

He reached around the picture frames. He knew their order without even looking, and wished his would end up there, too. If it weren't for politics, they wouldn't have to be so secretive.

His arm snaked around the folded up bag of sunflower seeds and located the cup of pens she kept. Far enough where she wouldn't knock them over but close enough where he could do just as he was doing. He knew she kept the black ones closest to his desk and pulled one out, smiling triumphantly as if it was the first time he'd played the little game.

Settling back into his chair, he resumed working.

Damn it. He'd still have to get up for food.

He eyed the bag of sunflower seeds.

X x x

Her stomach growled intermittently as the heart rate monitor beeped at steady intervals.

She licked her dry, cracked lips and swallowed, feeling the tiny stream of saliva just barely coat her parched throat.

Through blurry vision, she spotted an ivory pitcher next to an overturned cup of ice resting on the bedside table. She supposed it was moved to the left side of the bed to allow access with her good arm. Each injury made itself known and she wondered if they had any idea at all that getting to the table would be nearly impossible.

She gripped the hard plastic of the bed rail with her arm and pulled. She instantly regretted the action as a sharp pain in her leg stilled any further movements toward the edge of the bed.

She lay there, panting, trying to get her breathing back to normal. She took the moment to study the multiple wires around her.

Wires and tubes snaked out of her gown, their origins she didn't know. She lifted the blanket, bracing herself for what she would see beneath. Her gown had been pulled up to give the doctors and nurses access to the lower half of her body.

The round pads of the heart monitor made themselves visible first.

She noted the scrapes on her stomach that blended in with an array of bruises, all of varying colors. Her eyes trailed over her ribcage, taking in the site of some life-saving procedure. She studied the black stitching coiled around the point where a clear, rubber tube had been inserted into her side. She winced, suddenly remembering how it had gotten there.

Her left arm had been wrapped in gauze, the same with her right, which was nestled in a sling. Her right shoulder had a mass of thick, heavy bandages. She could only imagine what it looked like underneath.

She pulled the blanket back over her bare legs, hating the fact that every resident on the floor had most likely seen her in such a rare, vulnerable state. She knew the likelihood of having anything to wear under her gown was slim, if not impossible.

Tears of frustration clouded her vision and she wiped them away with shaking fingers and let the exhaustion carry her away.

X x x

The seat was empty. He glanced at it again, as if she would magically appear just because he was staring. The black zip-up hooded sweatshirt hung precariously on the back, the left arm dangling off. He imagined it was almost touching the floor. She liked that hoodie, and he'd feel bad if she came back and couldn't wear it.

He rubbed his tired, gritty eyes. The clock on his computer suddenly seemed bigger, as if taunting him, taking pleasure in how lost he was without her. Now he knew how Dickie felt when all the girls had gone on a mother-daughter trip. Elliot had been used to being alone, but had noticed how his son had kept glancing at the digital readout of his watch until the door finally opened. It still amazed him how close his twins were.

He shifted uncomfortably, his city-issued chair making a resounding squeak each time he shimmied his ass to the left and back to the right trying to find the 'sweet spot'.

He eyed the phone. She was an early riser, by nature; the job warranted it. Even when she slept in, she was still up before many of the morning commuters.

His hand kept migrating toward the black, also city-issued, phone. The numbers had all but worn off and while he didn't mind it so much 99 of the time, he hated that he had to use hers whenever he had to call one of those damned 800 numbers. Hell if he knew where the 'J' or the 'M' was. Was 'Q' even on there? He'd start to get flustered and before the first curse she'd nudge her phone toward his desk, all the while shaking her head as she continued working. She was good like that.

He wondered if she'd thought of putting some Tylenol and water by the bed for when she got up. He still had his inebriated moments and the hellish morning-after torture. He thought up a reason he needed to call her, but at the moment they hadn't had any cases. Of all the damn times. What a bastard he was for even thinking such a thing.

He'd been happy for her when she'd gone into Cragen's office asking permission to have the previous night off. It had been short notice but their superior had reassured her, reminding her how much leave she had on the books. She'd come out a few minutes later with the biggest grin since he'd surprised her with flowers that one time at the park. They hadn't been wrapped up in any tissue paper or cellophane and he'd nearly been caught by the Conservancy employee when he'd started to pick them. Luckily he'd brought his badge on 'accident', because he just never knew when he'd need it.

He'd ushered her out the door and that was that. Not since his single days had he had a night to himself. He was free.

No, he was a lost little boy.

He wondered if Dickie was up yet.

X x x

The seat was empty. As much as she didn't want anyone to see her as banged up as she was, she'd welcome someone, anyone to come just for a few minutes. She pictured him pacing the hallway until Cragen made him sit down, all the while silently pleading with the nurses to allow one, small visit. As soon as possible.

She couldn't pinpoint which injury had started to hurt the worst. She just knew that she didn't care anymore. No longer could she feel her ribs move with each exhale, or the twinge of pain in the subtle movement of her left leg. Gone was the stinging sensation as her scraped cheek stretched each time she opened her mouth.

For the first time, she felt a hard object pressing into her calf muscle and pulled on the attached cord ever so gently until she had a firm grip on the device.

She pressed the little button with her thumb and within seconds the ache in her body became manageable.

She went to that in-between place. Not asleep yet not fully lucid. She smacked her lips, wishing she could have some of that ice. There had to be an easier way of getting it, but she couldn't think of one.

She felt her mind clear and turn hazy once again, the in-and-out feeling becoming annoying. She chided herself in pushing that damned button.

At least she didn't have a hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oooh the joy of apartment hunting in NYC...

Elliot kicked his legs out in front of him and stretched, hearing the bones re-align from having been forced into an uncomfortable position.

Just moments ago, he'd found himself holding the receiver. He'd pushed the familiar numbers, but had stopped once he'd gotten to the last digit.

He'd tried her cell phone but it had gone to voice mail. He couldn't remember which day it was that she'd talked about needing to charge the battery.

He'd finally let the handset fall back onto the cradle. He felt like an idiot. He had been a bachelor before her; he'd just have to suck it up. She was sleeping it off. Even if it was after ten o'clock.

He tapped his fingers onto the cool steel of the desk, noticing for the first time the small area where he'd started to etch her name with a paperclip. Over-and-over, he'd traced the letters until he could make out what it said. He wasn't worried about anyone else reading it. Not that they could. Only he knew what it said.

xxx

Olivia stretched, wincing as muscles, attached to tendons, attached to broken bones, stretched. She couldn't find a comfortable spot. Her shoulder throbbed, making it impossible to find a position that didn't remind her of the growing need to find the black device again.

The nurse had come in during a small moment of time in which Olivia had been awake and had explained, in detail, what had happened. The woman nodded a lot, as if she were relaying information from whatever medical textbook she'd just read.

A small shaft of light shone through the crooked piece of plastic that made up the last blind. At least it was the same day, or so she thought.

xxx

Elliot finally picked up the phone at one twenty-nine because he couldn't bring himself to adhere to the mental promise of calling after he got back from lunch. He'd tried, but damn it, they hadn't gone that long without talking since she'd moved in and he needed to hear her voice.

He let it ring a reasonable amount of time. Casey hadn't talked to her since they'd left the bar. The two had promised to catch up for later on when they returned to the land of living.

He tried the apartment and after the third time getting the machine, he'd hung up and tried back. He started to panic.  
The second he set the phone back on the cradle, a small slip of paper was thrust into his hand. He stared at the paper but the words didn't make sense.

Her bag had been turned in at the 10th precinct by an elderly couple, and the desk sergeant had rifled through the remaining contents, stopping suddenly when he'd found her identification. She wouldn't give up her bag without a fight, but she wouldn't put her life in jeopardy. She wouldn't risk it for a wallet full of cash. For her badge.

Her badge. He'd jokingly told her to take it with her, that if someone started accosting her, she could shove it into the prick's face. Thank God he had suggested it, because there was no telling how long it would have taken to notify him otherwise.

Frantically, he grabbed the directory she'd kept folded up inside the phone book. He tried to remain calm as his eyes trailed down the hospitals. He wracked his brain for the street where the bar was located. Starting from Hell's Kitchen, he jotted down all of the listings that fell between the bar and the apartment.

He felt the control on his emotions slip with each call, each time he was forced to listen to that awful hold music.  
The cheeseburger and chilli cheese fries he'd inhaled in the car made his stomach churn.

He clutched the receiver in a white-knuckled grip. His heart slammed into his chest, making him gasp for breath. He almost dropped the phone when the registration clerk came back onto the line.

He leapt from his chair and ran out of the room. He'd explain what the hell was going on when he found out himself.

xxx

Elliot sat still as a statue.

Time passed slowly at the most inconvenient time. Ever since he was a child, he knew just how sluggish the progression could be.

He remembered one Christmas and how he sat anxiously on the living room couch eyeing that damn stocking, anticipating the moment he would hear the squeak of his parents' door. Finally, he'd given up and taken it upon himself to climb on the chair and take it down. One by one, he'd removed the items inside, all the while paying close attention to the placement of each item so he could re-assemble the contents back to the way they were.

He'd known early on how to pull one over on his old man.  
As time progressed and he grew older he still detested every moment of his life waiting. The ten minutes he'd stood there as a then three year-old Kathleen threw a tantrum, outright refusing to leave the house unless she could wear her bright pink pair of shorts to the sitter in the middle of the winter. Damn it if he didn't let her, because a little lost body heat from wrapping her up in his coat was worth the fact that he had finally been able to head out. The entire way, he'd been cursing his wife and the inconvenient conference she'd had to attend for her job.

He wondered why the little moments like those never prepared him for the many months he'd endured during Kathy's pregnancy with the twins. He wanted a son, really wanted one and it wasn't as if he wouldn't have loved them all the same but God almighty he had a penis on the sonogram and he'd never been prouder. Finally, when the day arrived he'd stood at the head of the bed holding his wife's hand as his wrinkly, wailing daughter emerged from behind the blue drape.

He'd kept looking, though, as the doctor returned to his normal place, having handed over 'baby A' to the nurses. Although he learned later that it had taken but a moment for his son to enter the world, it had felt like an eternity. Nine months and he didn't have it in him to wait another damn minute.

Here he was in another hospital, waiting yet again. This time was different, though, filled with uncertainty and guilt.  
His jaw clenched, emitting a perceptible crunch as the two bones slid against each other, grinding in insurmountable tension.

He drew his gaze from the street below St. Vincent's and back to the monitor, making sure all the readouts were within the 'normal limits' that had been explained to him by the nurse. As he sat in that hard, godforsaken chair, he let his mind wander to the moment he found out and the silly ways his mind had tried to rationalize her absence.

He'd thought about calling her. She'd gone out for drinks and he didn't want to disturb her sleep. She was always an early riser, something she confessed to doing ever since she started at the 1-6. She slept on edge, ready to spring out of bed to the sound of a ringing telephone.

So, he'd waited and at ten thirteen, one hour and thirteen minutes into his shift he picked up the receiver. He'd let it go after that when she didn't answer the phone, trying to rationalize that the battery had died and that the land line was down. She'd gone out for breakfast or lunch. His mind went back to the moment he'd first looked at the clock on his computer.

Ten thirteen. His mind reeled at the irony. Even an NYPD officer fresh out of the academy knew what a 10-13 was. Officer Needs Assistance.

Upon entering the Emergency Room a barrage of tests had been run to determine the extent of her injuries. Injures which were the reason for the multiple tubes and wires snaking out from under her gown and blanket. He'd noticed the thick, white padding of the bandages on her shoulder from trying to keep the bones in place.

She'd been sedated so that she could rest comfortably and not aggravate her injuries. The one they'd been keeping an eye on was a ruptured bladder, which they'd allowed to go without surgery in hopes of letting it heal on its own.

By mid morning, she'd been weaned off the injections and had been given a self-administered form of pain relief. She had used it and was sleeping off the effects, allowing her battered body to heal.

As he watched her, he wondered how he'd missed it all, how he'd never known anything was wrong. How he could be so far removed to not have the smallest feeling that something was off.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Olivia hadn't made it back to the apartment. He'd left a note for her that he'd gotten called in. It was still at home, waiting for her return.

Instead of waking up safe and sound in their bed, she'd been in a drug-induced sleep. Alone.

xxx

The trip to the vending machine had been uneventful. The hall was deserted, save for the handful of nurses and doctors that went about their business. Occasionally, in passing, one would greet him with a smile.

His shoes squeaked and he slowed his stride. He'd been kicked out to 'freshen up' and to get something to eat.

Even though visiting hours were over, they'd promised that he could return later. In silent compromise, he'd chosen to stretch his tired muscles and come back a half hour later. A single moment away from her side was a moment too long, so thirty minutes might as well have been a death sentence. He berated himself for even thinking about death, no matter the context.

The machine sputtered once before an off-white mixture of pseudo-coffee came pouring into the little cup. He'd paid a dollar fifty for it, a complete rip off. At least the candy bar was bound to taste somewhat decent.

He tore the wrapper and took a bite, instantly filling his cheeks with the peanut, caramel and chocolate mixture. So far, she'd managed to avoid taking a trip to the operating room. As a precaution, though, it would be another day or two before Olivia could eat anything.

He felt bad for indulging, but he was running on empty as it was. Then again, he'd probably be close to the point of passing out once he came down from the sugar high. He just had to stay awake long enough to see her open her eyes and tell him what a son of a bitch he was for not offering to pick her up from the bar.

He mentally ran through the events in his head, thinking of all the things they'd be doing.

They had plans for the night at a restaurant owned by a chef she liked to watch on the Food Network, some Italian guy with red hair and orange shoes. The guy looked like he'd walked off the set of that Stephen King movie; the one with the clowns.

Her hair had that wispy way about it, like she'd let it air dry with a little mousse or gel. It wasn't straight like she'd started wearing it, nor was it in a ponytail. It would take longer but she would have done it for him.

She'd wear that black dress, the one she'd gotten over lunch break one day. The very same one that had sent him to the nearest cold shower he could find after he'd envisioned every which way she'd fill it up. Strappy heels. Mascara with just a hint of charcoal eyeliner.

Olivia Benson, the woman, did not believe in pink in any way, shape, or form. Not just any shade of polish could peek out from beneath her open-toed shoes. She'd had an appointment to get a French pedicure, something she'd wanted to indulge in for years but never had anyone to splurge for. The night would have been about them, though, and well worth getting dolled up for.

He'd don whatever seemed to match, because even after year of living with Kathy and the girls, he still had the fashion sense of a man who had yet to get a clue.

His shoes would be meticulously shined, and he'd have spent an extra five dollars on the deluxe package. He was running low on cash, but she deserved the effort.

They'd show up at the restaurant at their reserved time. He'd comment on the earrings he'd never seen her wear. He couldn't remember her ears being pierced.

They'd settle on a glass of wine, a far cry from the Amstel Light they would have shared had the environment called for such a casual beverage.

Their food would arrive and thus would begin the conversation he'd been meaning to have for weeks but was too nervous to ask her, for fear that she'd tell him she wasn't ready to move in officially. She'd say that she was fine with having her space during the week and that transferring all of her things to his place for good would be a jinx.

He was kidding himself if he thought they'd end up in some fancy restaurant. She'd need a good night's rest for work, so he'd pick some diner close to her apartment. They'd talk about his day and how long she'd cursed herself for drinking so much. She rarely drank to excess and would beat herself up over a few martinis on an empty stomach.

A group of interns passed him. Their fresh-out-of-the-plastic coats were a pristine shade of white. He wondered where they'd just come from. If he had anything to say about it, they'd stay away from Olivia's room. She would not become one of their lessons.

He took a deep breath, his mood suddenly turning dark. He wished he'd shut the door a moment sooner. It wasn't as if he'd seen her naked before. There were plenty of times he had and he wasn't ashamed to admit that it felt a little gratifying to know that she had chosen him to share her beautiful figure with. Him. Not the nurses or doctors. Him.

He hadn't left soon enough, not really. The privacy curtain hadn't quite hidden her from his eyes and he'd gotten an unfortunate peek of her injuries as he'd closed the door to leave. The image was etched in his memory, like a bad song he couldn't get out of his head no matter how many times he'd flipped the channel.

His side hurt as he thought about the puckered skin around the chest tube, and he drew in a ragged breath just seeing the angry bruises that covered her stomach.

He felt like a bastard for seeing her in such a vulnerable state when the doctor started on her hip. He couldn't help but look as Olivia winced in her sleep and he wanted to ask Mr. Know-It-All when it was that the art of torture had been included in his studies.

She'd hate it when she woke up. The demeaning feeling and the lack of control that came from being stuck in bed. And her recovery would be long; there was no doubt about it. Months, he'd been told, because a fractured pelvis didn't just heal itself over night. There were other injuries, too.

The broken shoulder and ribs, the ruptured bladder. She'd be dependent upon other people through her recovery and she was bound to hate it. Every step of the way.

She was bound to hate him, too. He expected her to, but she'd be alive to do so and he'd take what he could get because it was that 'fight-til-the-end' way about her that got her through what thousands of people died from every year. And thank God her end hadn't come.

He took another bite and carefully tried to pull the caramel away from the rest of the candy bar. Small chunks of chocolate hung precariously from the brown ribbon, threatening to fall at any moment. He swiped at his lips with his tongue, trying to clear the sticky mess. It wouldn't due to walk back in looking like a two-year old, completely incapable of wiping off his face.

The coffee, as much as it had cost, tasted acrid, nasty as hell and he wondered where the nearest trash can was. By some form of transformation, it had morphed from a liquid into a sludge and, with every sip, was ruining the taste of the Snickers.

Olivia would have laughed at him as he tossed it away. She'd have told him to grow up, that a buck fifty never kill...

She would have taken it upon herself to rid him of the coffee. He could see it in his head. With a roll of her eyes, she'd tell him how stubborn he was being and how unbecoming it was to have to do everything for him.

He never missed that small ghost of a smile that lingered on her face as she semi-stalked over to the coffee machine after he'd hinted none too subtly that he was out, or the many times she'd taken to tossing the white balls of paper into the trash receptacle because he'd miss a shot by some unseen gust of wind.

He milked it, of course, but he knew that she had needs, too. He'd chalked it up to the fact that she'd never had anyone in her life that had been worth the effort.

Like the time she'd come in with a migraine from having not slept for three days. He'd pulled out all the stops that day, seeing the dark circles beneath her eyes and her unusually pale face.

An hour into the shift, she'd started rubbing her temples, softly at first, before her fingertips turned white due to the pressure being exerted in trying to alleviate the pain. She'd excused herself to the restroom and had returned with bloodshot, watery eyes.

She'd sat there at the desk as he placed the items in front of her. A bottle of her favorite soda, two small tablets, and a candy bar. He'd expected an argument, and to say the least, he was shocked at the crinkling of the wrapper, soon followed by the hiss of the bottle being opened.

It was the first time in their 'relationship' she'd let him baby her. He wasn't sure what to call it when two people started sharing beer and pizza on a more intimate level. It had been so long since he'd been on a date. He'd faked the yawn and reached around to plant a tentative hand on her shoulder. She hadn't objected, so he'd continued to test the waters.

His heard swelled at the memory. She'd gone home sick that day, and he couldn't remember a time before when she'd done such a thing. He'd promised to check on her after shift. It had taken two knocks to get her to open the door.

That day had been a first of firsts, he though, as he squeezed the stubborn remnants of the candy bar out of the bottom of the wrapper.

He spotted another trash can and glanced around for witness. He balled the sticky paper up as small as he could before tossing it in the direction of the silver can. With near-perfect delivery, he sent the wadded up ball sailing. Into the wall.

Grumbling, he walked the short distance, picked the trash back up and tossed it inside. He felt an involuntary shiver and looked up. Damn vents.


End file.
